


Dreams of Pop Quizzes with No Pants On

by mazurka



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-Typical Slurs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4135014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazurka/pseuds/mazurka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are you that much of a pathetic dickwad that you'd chase after the crumbs of social interaction that you get from filth like <i>Sollux Captor</i>? Yeah, you probably are. At least you dress better than he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eridan

**Author's Note:**

> An entirely self-indulgent little AU written for the sake of gratuitous bickering and porn. Inspired by [Easy Captor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/579728) and directly follows the events of that fic. 
> 
> Title from A. E. Stallings.

Cronus slams the door on his way out, the door jambs shuddering with the force of it. You and Sollux had both turned your heads to watch his little tantrum but now your gazes snap back to each other. Sollux is still hovering over you with his knees and elbows on either side of your body. You think you can feel the heat of his body between the inches of space separating your torsos. His mouth, which had been hanging slightly open, now closes and firms into a thin line. He looks at you impassively for a moment, then flops down on his back beside you. The frenetic zeal of moments before has dissipated abruptly and the silence now feels—well, really fucking awkward.

“So,” he begins. “That just fucking happened.”

"Sol, about the scarf—you know, when Cro was...ah, I mean—"

"Jesus fucking shit, no, we are not having this conversation. We will have this conversation over my rotting fucking corpse."

"All right, Sol, fuck. I just wanted to clear the air, is all."

There's a pause and you can hear him drumming his fingers on the bedspread.

"Incestuous perverts," he mutters.

You sit up and turn towards him, affronted. "Screw you! It's not like I'm gonna get pregnant and have eighteen retarded kids in my white trash trailer park. It's just easier than romancin' one of the bimbos at school."

"Lol,"—and he actually pronounces the acronym, the hopeless loser—"tell yourself whatever you want, man, but the point is that you're still pathetic enough to be boning your useless brother."

"Well, you just fucked both of us, so what does that make you, huh?"

He rolls his eyes at the ceiling, but he flushes slightly at your taunt. You squint at him, waiting for him to snark back at you. Without your glasses on, Sollux's edges are fuzzy, as if someone took a photo of him with an unsteady hand. He lets you study him for a few moments longer, then sighs and turns to face you.

"Stop staring at me," he says. His unwavering gaze is unsettling without two pairs of glasses to act as a buffer.

"I'm not starin', jeez, I was lookin' at you cause we're havin' a conversation, you twat."

He rolls his eyes again and you scowl. Maybe you should gouge his stupid eyes out with your thumbs, keep them in a glass jar or something, one blue iris and one brown, bobbing in clear liquid.

Sollux sits up, finally, and runs a hand through his hair. His haircut is atrocious and he's had the same one pretty much since you met him, just varying in length depending on how long it's been since he's had it trimmed.

"I'm gonna go shower," he says, standing and casting you a fleeting glance before he walks towards the bathroom. You watch the smooth edges of his shoulder blades shift as he stretches his arms.

"Hey, Sol."

He stops and pivots on his heel to face you. "What, asswipe?"

"Does this mean that we're...a thing now?" His expression looks decidedly horrified. Shit. You wince and backtrack hurriedly. "I mean, it's not like we're gonna be fuckin' prom dates or honeymoonin' in Paris or whatever, I'm just sayin', since you aren't with Fef anymore, maybe we could try it out."

Oh hell, he definitely looks slightly queasy now. Fuck, you shouldn't have brought up Fef, damn it, that always makes him shut down.

He lets out a breath through his teeth and crosses his arms. "Look, this was a one-time thing, okay?" He snorts. "This only happened 'cause your greasy brother practically raped me. We're not fucking dating. God, you desperate fuck, I don't even like you."

You scowl as you feel your face heating up. "Piss off."

He quirks an eyebrow at you. "Wow, what a devastating verbal parry. I may never fucking recover."

You roll onto your back and sigh explosively. "Go take your goddamn shower." You swear you can hear his smirk as he walks away.

Your mind wanders as you listen to the sounds of Sollux moving around in the bathroom. You just fucked Sollux. Huh. You're still somewhat reeling from shock about it, honestly. It's not as if you'd never fantasised about him. He's not breathtaking or anything, but his sharp, angular face has a strange appeal. He's tall and skinny, a classic emaciated computer nerd, though surprisingly strong. You think he once mentioned in passing that he takes some sort of martial arts lessons. From the few times that you two have fought physically, he'd always bested you. It was infuriating; you had twenty pounds and ten inches on the guy—at least, you did, before his growth spurt this year. You're more or less the same height now.

Back when you'd hated him, sincerely and wholeheartedly, you used to daydream about taking your hunting rifle and wiping his stupid smirk off his face with a bullet or two. Let's see how well he can fight with a pound of lead in his gut. These days, you've settled into an almost comfortable level of mutual irritation. Neither of you are terribly invested in the non-friendship that you have, so there's not much to get worked up about.

The curtains are slightly parted and a sliver of sunlight warms the inside of your wrist. You feel languid and hazy. Well-fucked, essentially. You've almost drifted off by the time the door clicks open and Sollux steps back into your room. He has a towel wrapped around his waist and he looks damp and a bit flushed from his shower. There's a patch of skin on his neck that's starting to bruise—probably from Cronus, earlier. You want to suck a bruise onto the other side of his neck, mark him up symmetrically.

You watch him as he picks up his clothes from the floor and puts them on briskly. He starts to turn towards you, so you close your eyes and pretend to still be dozing.

"What are you, a fucking nudist? Cover yourself up in front of guests, E.D."

You make a show of opening your eyes slowly as if he'd woken you. He's standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with one corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. He seems much more at ease now, dressed and collected, and all at once, you feel self-conscious, though he's very determinedly looking only at your face. It seems impossible now that twenty minutes ago, he could have been the Sollux who had been panting into your neck, shallow groans escaping from his lips as he thrusted into you.

"Whatever, Sol. When you have abs this chiseled, it'd be an outright indecency to not lounge around in the buff."

Sollux scoffs. His retort is interrupted by the sound of a door slamming. You both freeze and you hear Cronus' angry grumbling as he walks down the hallway to the bathroom, where he once again slams the door shut.

Sollux turns towards you, and the silence feels strained. Fuckin' Cronus.

"I should get home," Sollux says. He pauses before adding, "Your computer is a piece of shit."

"Oh my god, I know, I know, you tell me this literally every fuckin' time you're here. I'm not buyin' a new computer just so you can come over and watch shitty porn or anime or whatever."

"Wow, E.D., your dad's a fucking CEO. Noblesse oblige, bitch."

"Get outta my fuckin' house!" You throw a pillow at him as he closes the door behind him, the sound of his obnoxious giggling growing fainter as he walks downstairs.

\-----

You plop down in your seat amidst the chattering of your classmates. Your English teacher is late, as usual. You hate this class. You sit alone for nearly all of your classes, so it's not exactly unusual. Still, this is the only class you share with Sollux besides Chemistry and it's harder to be alone when you have to watch him and Karkat yuck it up the whole time. You stare sulkily at them as Karkat goes on a tirade about the cafeteria food—"It's like someone took a thousand hairballs, forced a shitload of cats to reingest them and hurl them back up, then used them to make a fucking stew. I swear to god, I could shit better-tasting food out of my asshole". Sollux is smirking, showing some of his fucked up teeth. He has dangerously sharp canines, which, despite the rest of his wonky teeth, actually look kinda cool, though you're loath to admit it. He's leaning back, balancing on two legs of his chair with his feet on the desk. God, what a douche.

Mr. Pollock breezes into the room and the buzz of conversation ceases immediately. You spend the rest of the class zoning out and staring at the back of Sollux's head. It's surprisingly easy to conjure up the familiar Sollux-shaped feeling of irritation, despite the fact that you had his dick in your mouth yesterday. What's new is that now you can't stop thinking about the fact that you did, indeed, have his dick in your mouth yesterday. And then quite enthusiastically pounding into your ass. You feel a slight stirring in your groin and stifle the urge to groan in frustration. Being a teenager sucks royally.

\-----

You spend lunch sitting alone in the library, reading about Napoleon. Yes, an entirely unoriginal choice as far as megalomaniacal dictators go, but he had a certain flair. You lie down, resting the book on your chest, and close your eyes. You imagine having your own throne room, peering down haughtily at the peons who line up to kiss your feet. Everyone—every noble, every guard—is standing tense with fear. They know that with a single casual word, you could have their severed head rolling at your feet. The thought makes you smile contentedly.

Then, out of nowhere, Sollux strides into the room. What the fuck? He marches right up to you and slams your shoulders back against the throne. His bony fingers dig into your skin painfully. You look around wildly, calling for someone to seize him, but everyone seems to have disappeared. It's just you and Sollux, in his anachronistic jeans and t-shirt, no less. Shit, he looks pissed. He's practically snarling at you now, with his wonky teeth bared in aggression. Well, you're not going to sit here and take this. You growl right back at him and wriggle in your seat, trying to pry his hands off by sinking your nails into his wrists. He hisses in pain, then abruptly pulls you up by your shirtfront and throws you on the floor. You're dazed by the pain for a few seconds and you can only watch as Sollux kneels and straddles you. He punches you in the jaw, and before you have time to even feel the sting settle in, he rolls his hips against yours. The bulge of his clothed erection rubs against yours and shit, that feels good. You hadn't even realized that you were hard. You're even more astounded at the fact that Sollux is getting off on this, too.

The bell rings, jolting you from your fantasy. Fuck, now you're sporting a semi right before Chem. You rub your jaw, remembering the last time you and Sollux fought, when he really did punch you in the jaw. It's been a while since you two have gotten so pissed off at each other that an argument had devolved into fisticuffs. Some time after the beginning of your enmity with Sollux, puberty had reared its ugly head and you'd realized that when Sollux got mad, he looked...kinda hot. Since that revelation, fantasies about your arguments turning into sexual encounters had become lamentably regular wank material. Sometimes when you're fucking Cronus and he gets rough, you like to pretend that he's Sollux, although usually Cronus is just too...Cronus for you to imagine that he's someone else when you fuck.

\-----

When Sollux comes into the classroom, you're already sitting at your station. It's nice to have someone beside you, even if he's forced to be there as your lab partner. He doesn't greet you today, but he rarely does, anyway. Occasionally when he's in a particularly good mood, he might sit down with a "'Sup, E.D."

You feel jittery now, as he walks towards you. As soon as he's close enough and before you can think better of it, you blurt out, "Hey, Sol."

He raises an eyebrow at you as he takes his seat. "Hey."

"So, um, did you do the homework?" It's always a bit awkward talking to him at school. When he's over at your place, sniping at each other seems to come so easily.

"Please, as if I need to do homework to ace this course."

"How do you even fit your fat head through doorways? It's fuckin' unsightly," you snap. He's always so fucking full of himself. The worst part is that he's actually a genius or something. How on earth such a worthless bipolar freak managed to win the genetic lottery for intelligence is beyond you. God knows you're much more deserving than that asshole.

"Ha, don't be jealous, E.D.; it's hard to measure up to me."

Fuck, everything about him makes you see red.

"What could I possibly be jealous of? You're a twiggy nerd who _talkth_ like a moron. Orthodontists would probably vomit rivers of blood if they got the chance to scope out your hideous nightmare of a mouth."

Sollux narrows his eyes. You feel the warm curl of satisfaction in your gut of knowing that you actually got to him. He's so laughably sensitive about his lisp.

But instead of snapping at you, he just rolls his eyes. "Really? That's what you're gonna make fun of? It's like shooting a fucking sitting duck. A skinny nerd who lisps, oh my fucking god, someone alert the paramedics, we have a third degree burn here!"

One end of a metre stick is slammed down on the desk, between the two of you. "Gentlemen, be quiet or feel free to leave the room. I don't have time to be speaking over your side conversations." Mr. Allan is glaring down at you and Sollux. Subdued, you both turn to face the front of the room as the lesson begins.

You sullenly take out your MacBook and start taking notes. You sneak a sideways glance at Sollux to see if he's not-so-subtly judging you for your taste in laptops (which he always does, despite having seen it countless times already, the fucker), but he's twirling his pen idly, clearly not paying attention.

It makes you fidgety, makes something inside you twist uncomfortably, that Sollux seems to have brushed aside the events of the previous night so easily. It especially irks you given that you aren't able to do the same. He got under your skin, somehow, and now all you can think about when you see him in his thin, worn shirt and his scuffed jeans is the way he looks without anything on at all. The way the muscles of his arms shifted and shook when he was trying to support his own weight above you, the shape of his mouth as he groaned when you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, that same mouth stretched obscenely around your own erection as he whimpered from Cronus' invading tongue in his ass.

Goddamn, you are fucking horny. You cross your legs, willing yourself not to pop a boner in the middle of class. You are not going to excuse yourself to jack off in the bathroom; you do actually have some shame. It's driving you crazy, this hyper-awareness of the proximity of Sollux's body to yours. His hand is a couple of inches away from yours, still spinning his pen, and it almost physically hurts how much you want his spindly fingers sliding down your back and under your briefs to knead at your ass, maybe slip a digit or two into you...

You let out a shaky sigh. In your periphery, you notice Sollux's hand pausing in his ceaseless and somewhat irritating fidgeting with his pen. You dart another sneaky glance at him, only to meet his gaze. All of your blood seems to rush to both your face and your groin simultaneously. Before you can do something utterly desperate and stupid, like attack his mouth with your mouth right there during Chem class, you are saved, in a most cliche fashion, by the bell.

As everyone scrambles to get out the door, Mr. Allan calls out, "Remember to come prepared for your lab tomorrow. I expect each pair of you to walk in with a flawlessly typed-out lab plan."

You turn to Sollux to ask him over to your place to work on the lab, but his seat is empty. Ugh, now you'll have to go to his locker if you want to catch him before he leaves. You hate going to his locker. The lucky bastard somehow managed to snag a locker amidst all of his friends and every time you're there, the whole area is buzzing with obnoxious laughter and chatter. You know that he has friends, that this pathetic loser is inexplicably popular and has a group of friends that actually includes at least two devastatingly attractive girls. It makes you seethe when you think about it, but most of the time you hardly even care! It's just infuriating to have it rubbed in your face, to actually see him around them.

Sighing, you make your way to the second floor.

\-----

As you'd expected, Sollux is surrounded by a gaggle of rowdy students, likely throwing in a snide comment or two, judging by the smug grin on his face. He spots you walking towards him and his brow furrows a bit before he turns back to his buddies. Karkat's standing beside him, crossing his arms with an exaggerated scowl on his face. He and Sollux have a somewhat antagonistic relationship, just like your own rocky frenemy situation with the worthless fucker. The difference is that they're actually friends, i.e. they genuinely like each other despite all the bickering. You watch as Karkat throws Sollux a grudgingly fond look when Sollux says something that makes the other kids snicker.

"Captor."

Sollux turns towards you with a slightly amused expression. He's made fun of you before for addressing him by his last name like that when you talk to him in front of other people. _What do you think this is—Harry Potter? News just in, your douche metre exploded and caused a small earthquake in Texas._ "What do you want, Eridan?"

"We have to work on the lab."

"Okay, just send me the rough draft tonight and I'll look it over." He raises his eyebrows at you like he thinks you're wasting his time.

"No, you lazy fuckin' scumbag, I'm not writin' up the entire thing just so you can spend the night jackin' off to 4chan nudes."

"Holy shit, it's high school Chem. Do you think we're gonna be winning the fucking Nobel prize?"

"Can it, Captor. Just hurry the fuck up, I'll be at the front doors." With that, you walk towards the stairs at the end of the hallway, cutting through Sollux's little group and making sure to viciously knock your shoulder against his when you walk by him. You do have to keep up appearances, after all. Can't have him thinking that you've gone soft on him now that you've had sex with the guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternian Sollux had shurikens in his room and I liked the idea of human Sollux still being into martial arts—and actually having an incentive to study them now, since he's devoid of telekinetic abilities. This headcanon is probably also the result of having known too many skinny, nerdy boys who took Taekwondo while I was in high school.


	2. Eridan

You lean your head back against the metal of the door. Shit, it's as cold as ice. It's uncomfortable but also kind of soothing, to feel the chill spread through you from the back of your head. You curl your hands in the ends of your scarf. Fucking Sollux, he's making you wait on purpose. It's definitely been at least fifteen minutes. Your fingers are going to get frostbitten and then you'll slap the hospital bill right in his ugly face.

The door you're leaning on is suddenly pushed outward and you nearly topple over from the force of it. You whip your head around and of course, it was Sollux. You'd expect the smirk to be out full-force, but he just looks tired. The hickey on his neck is embarrassingly obvious against his pale skin and you realise that he's been entirely unconcerned with hiding his neck today, and that his friends must all have seen it. You snap, "Jeez, did you have to kick the goddamn door open?"

The ghost of a smirk hovers over his lips. "Oops, sorry that you're a weak bitch. Do you even lift?"

"Don't meme at me, you disgusting waste of breath."

The walk to your house is mostly silent. It usually is, except for days when something particularly egregious happens—like your incompetent sack of shit history teacher having the gall to criticise your presentation—and you simply can't not rant at someone. Sollux always makes it plenty clear that he couldn't give two dive-bombing shits about your problems, but you just talk over him and he rolls his eyes and tunes you out. Once, to your utter shock, he was the one who ranted at you. He'd been on his laptop during Chem and apparently some asshole fucked with one of the boards that he mods or something, and it must've pissed him off good and proper. Admittedly, Chem had been last period that day, so he hadn't gotten a chance to shout at Karkat about it before you two left for your place. Whatever the reason, he spent the entire five minutes of the walk spitting abuse about it. You'd listened mostly in stunned silence because you could hardly believe that he was actually willingly talking so much in your presence. It'd made you sort of happy, which was humiliating. Are you that much of a pathetic dickwad that you'd chase after the crumbs of social interaction that you get from filth like _Sollux Captor_? Yeah, you probably are. At least you dress better than he does.

You've walked up the steps to your front door when you hesitate and glance at Sollux. Might as well ask him now: "What did you tell your friends about the hickey?"

Sollux looks at you and blinks. "Implied that I scored a hot babe, obviously."

You grin. "You think Cronus is a hot babe?"

Sollux grimaces like he just caught a waft of the sweet fragrance of dog shit. "Fuck, why are we even talking about this? I'm freezing my ass off out here."

You roll your eyes at him before digging your key out of your pocket. As if he had any right to complain about being cold. He was always radiating warmth like his metabolism was going at warp speed.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in." Cronus is leaning against the wall, watching you and Sollux step inside.

"Make like a tree and fuck off, douchebag," Sollux says irritably. Cronus leers at him and grabs his arm as Sollux walks by him. In a flash, Sollux has Cronus' wrist in a painful-looking hold. "I'm really not in the fucking mood," Sollux snarls.

"Shit, all right, I get it, I'll skedaddle," Cronus says quickly, muttering, "Spoilsport", as he stalks away.

You wonder if Sollux had been holding back yesterday, since he had so easily bested Cronus just now. Hell, why not ask him, what have you got to lose?

"Sol, why didn't you just do that to him yesterday? Like, go all Kung Fu master on his ass or somethin'?"

Sollux looks startled, then rather abashed. "He had his hand down my pants, okay, I was distracted."

"Okay, dumbass, obviously I meant before that. He had you pinned against the wall, clearly he had to have pushed you around and—"

"Fuck, E.D., what the hell do you want me to say?" Sollux glares at you in exasperation. "That I'm a horny teenager who hasn't gotten laid since his girlfriend broke up with him? Well, fuck, you got me, I'm just another asshole who thinks with his dick."

You pause for a second before you blurt out incredulously, "You fucked Fef?"

"Wow, time to change the topic." Sollux bounds up the stairs and into your room.

You run up after him and quickly close the door behind you. "Didn't know you liked bein' pushed around by someone like Cronus."

Sollux sits down in front of your computer and sighs. "Stop talking before I punch you in the face."

"What, you hold back for Cro and not me?"

"I swear to fucking Christ I will give you a shiner that they'll be able to see from space. It'll be the fucking eighth wonder of the world."

"Whatever, man. You're all bark and no bite these days, anyhow. As if I'd be scared of your rubbish threats."

Sollux doesn't deign to respond. You hate this, the way he checks out of a conversation when he tires of you. You decide that you really want to rile him up today. You swear you can feel a jittery sort of nervous energy coursing through your entire body and it makes your nerve endings scream for contact. A caress, a slap, anything at all if only he'd touch you.

"How many times did you fuck Fef?"

"...No."

You grit your teeth. "Come on, what's the big deal?"

"Just, no."

You let out a breath and ask calmly, "Did she ever blow you?"

"What the hell is wrong with you today? Do you need five minutes of alone time with your right hand?"

He's still not even looking up from the screen, just scrolling nonchalantly through a forum. You're furious now. If you were a god, you'd strike him dead with a bolt of lightning. You wrench his chair around so he's facing you and shove your face right up close to his, nearly bumping his nose with yours.

"Did you ever," you ask lowly, "stick your fuckin' worthless cock in her whore mouth?"

His eyes spark dangerously. He moves his face even closer to yours so that the tips of your noses touch. Every puff of air he breathes out through his mouth warms your lips. You want to kiss him very badly. He looks at you like you're a particularly nasty bug that he'd like to squash and whispers, "Why don't I stick it in yours, you slut."

Before you can even blink, he smashes his face against yours and captures your lower lip between his teeth, biting down ruthlessly and drawing a spurt of blood. The pain jolts through you like electricity and you moan helplessly. You push towards him, hungry for more, but he draws away. You open your mouth to protest but you choke and splutter when your scarf suddenly tightens painfully around your neck. Sollux had grabbed both ends and pulled. You scratch his forearms wildly, but then he knees you in the stomach and you wheeze out the last of your breath as you drop to your knees. Your vision is turning to static and your limbs are going numb. You feel like you're two seconds away from passing out when he lets go and you gasp in a lungful of sweet, sweet oxygen. You find that you can't seem to hold your spine straight anymore and your forehead collides with Sollux's hipbone. Ow, fuck, that hurt. His hipbones are like razors. Miraculously, he doesn't move away. He just stands there and lets you lean against him, dazed and breathing raggedly.

Too soon, he pushes you away. You manage to catch yourself on your elbow before you faceplant and you shakily get to your feet. You walk a few unsteady steps towards your bed and flop down on it, face first.

"Fuck, Sol," you say, your voice muffled by the duvet.

"Your fault," he replies flatly. You scowl. So what? He was the one who nearly strangled you to death.

You slowly turn your face to the side so you can glare at his back. You sulk for a few minutes, watching the colours of the screen change as Sollux fucks around on your computer. When you've stewed in your self-pity for a sufficient amount of time, you get up sluggishly and grab your textbooks from your backpack. You spend the next hour or so writing up the lab plan on the floor 'cause Sollux is hogging your desk. The only sounds are the clicking of the mouse and the shuffling of pages.

When you finish, you grab the sheet of paper and walk over to Sollux to slap it on the keyboard. "Type it up," you command.

He does so wordlessly. Recently, he'd gotten into the habit of pointing out every little mistake you made and mocking you for it as he edits. His pointed silence makes you kind of miserable. Fuck that guy. You two had a routine. Who does he think he is, fucking it up like this?

You wish he'd fuck you. You also wish you could forget that he'd ever fucked you. God, your life is a mess.

"Heh," Sollux says, rousing you from your brooding, "did you seriously forget what an Erlenmeyer flask is called? You are a fucking disgrace to the education system. Maybe you should consider a brain transplant, E.D. Then you might even have a chance of graduating from high school."

The warm rush of relief at his words makes you giddy. You're practically grinning at him. "Oh, stop beatin' it to the sound of your own voice, Sol. When you can list the entire line of English monarchs consecutively, then you can strut all you want."

"Wow, I'm sure that trick gets you all the ladies at parties—except, wait, you wouldn't ever get invited to a party since you don't have friends."

Okay, so that one might have hit uncomfortably close to home, but you'd rather not think about that right now. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just get this done already so you can stop fondling my computer."

A few minutes of steady typing later, Sollux leans back in his chair and stretches. He turns your printer on and you scramble to your feet. "No, wait," you say, "let me see it first."

He peers at you, annoyed. "Why do you always do this? What part of 'I am a fucking genius and your IQ is in the double digits' do you not understand?"

You shoot him a poisonous look and elbow him out of the way. "All of it, I guess, seein' as that's a crock of horse shit."

You read over the document and deem it acceptable (with Sollux giving you a disbelieving glare the entire time).

Once you've got the warm, freshly printed copy in your hands, you ask Sollux if he wants to play CoD.

"Fuck yeah," he says, plopping down on the floor in front of your flatscreen.

The next few hours are spent yelling at idiots—which inevitably includes each other—and kicking Sollux whenever he does something stupid (his preferred method of retaliation is to jab you viciously with his pointy elbows).

At some point, your stomach makes a displeased rumble and you decide to go hunt for some victuals. You take off your headset and look expectantly at Sollux. He steadfastly ignores you for a good minute, so you get up and turn off the TV; that gets his attention.

"What?"

"Don't you want to eat something?" you ask impatiently. "It's almost nine."

"Seriously? That's it? Go stuff your face if you want, fatass. I've got grenades to throw."

"Shut your blasphemous mouth, I am not fat. If your malnourished ass is what I'm bein' measured against, then the whole fuckin' world is morbidly obese."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you want to believe, lardbutt." He moves to turn the TV back on, so naturally, you kick him in the thigh.

"Ow, fuck off," he grumbles, shifting away from your foot.

"Sol, I'm not gonna let you sit here until the next fuckin' day. You might as well eat somethin' before I kick you out of my house." You grab his arm, trying to haul him up. He shakes your hand off irritably and lets out an unnecessarily loud sigh—and he says _you're_ a theatrical pain in the ass—but he finally gets to his feet.

Downstairs, you manage to scrape together a meal from some leftover takeout because you don't feel like cooking for Sollux. He's not a picky eater at all. He doesn't usually seem to derive much enjoyment from eating, though he does have a sweet tooth. Afterwards, you bring out some chocolate cake from an upscale Parisian bakery downtown that he likes and he fairly lights up. You know he's not as well-off as you are, that he couldn't ever afford to eat something like this regularly. It makes you feel smug and you mentally congratulate yourself on your generosity.

As Sollux licks the last of the frosting from his lips, you realise that he hasn't ever stayed this late before. Sometimes he would go home right after you're done working and even when he would stay for a game, either you or he had found some reason to wrap up in the early evening.

"Do you want me to drive you?" you offer.

"Nah, I'll walk," he says, standing and putting his dishes in the sink.

"Are you sure? It's cold as shit outside."

He leans his hip against the counter and quirks an eyebrow at you. "Since when are you so eager to be my chauffeur?"

"Fuck, excuse me for trying to be a decent person every once in a while."

He lets out a short huff of a laugh. "Did someone exorcise you? There's no way that the douchiness just evaporated by itself."

"Oh, piss off, you complete and utter waste of perfectly good molecules." You walk with him to the front door. "Why don't you disassemble yourself and donate them to people who know how to show gratitude to their betters?"

He doesn't bother to reply, just flips you off as he slips outside.

\-----

The steam from the hot water curls around you as you rinse the shampoo from your hair. The glass door is completely fogged up and you feel cocooned and unguarded in your little haven. The sound of the door clicking open makes your muscles tense and you can tell from the blurry shapes that it's Cronus. You really don't want to deal with him right now.

You close your eyes under the spray of water and hear the soft shuffle of clothes being removed. A second later, the door slides open and Cronus steps into the shower with you.

You open your eyes and glare balefully at him. "Go away."

He reaches around your waist, pressing himself flush against you and kneading your ass. "I thought you were gonna have a lil' sleepover with your boyfriend. I coulda joined you, had a good time together."

You snort. "Sollux wouldn't touch you with a fuckin' ten-foot pole. He said it was a one-time thing, you greasy scum." Cronus' eyes harden at that and he gives your ass a sharp slap. Your breath hitches. Cronus is grinding his erection against you and you're still warm and pliant from the water cascading over you. You can feel yourself getting aroused despite your initial reluctance. He sucks and licks at your jaw, occasionally scraping lightly with his teeth and you shudder, finally leaning your head back, surrendering. He whirls you around and winds one arm around your chest, bracing the other one against the wall.

"Put your legs together," he whispers, nibbling your earlobe. You comply and you feel his cock slip between your thighs, slick and hard. He bites your shoulder as he starts thrusting, slowly sliding back and forth, brushing against your balls each time. You shiver at the sensation, pressing your ass back against him, urging him to go faster. You hate to actually voice your need when you're fucking Cronus because you know that he'll use it against you afterwards. Today, thankfully, he doesn't make you beg. His thrusts speed up and the way his cock keeps brushing against your aching balls is maddeningly not enough. You reach a hand down to stroke your own erection, sighing in relief, but Cronus bats your hand away.

"Hey," you growl. "What gi—" You break off with a whine as Cronus sinks his teeth into your neck. He grabs both your wrists and raises them above your head, pushing you forward until your forearms are against the wall. The sounds of his low grunts and the wet slap of his skin against yours echo in the small space, obscenely audible in spite of the steady fall of water. He continues to practically maul your shoulder, and you try to focus on the sweet ache of the marks he's leaving on your skin instead of the throbbing between your legs. Soon enough, his thrusts grow erratic and the shakiness of his breathing warns you that he's close. Once, twice more and then he's spilling all over your legs with a cry. You give him all of two seconds to catch his breath, then pull your wrists away from his slackened grip to finally touch your neglected cock.

Cronus chuckles against your neck. "Want me to give you a hand there, chief?"

"Fuck off, you useless lump." You don't even care how you get off—at this point, the buildup of your sexual frustration from being around Sollux all day has made you ready to burst apart at the seams. You just want to come already.

Cronus grabs you by the shoulders and turns you around to face him. You give him your most dangerous glare, which he ignores, of course. You are so sick of his shit. He lifts your leg by the calf and holds it up in the crook of his elbow. It's an awkward position to hold, but you're already trembling with anticipation. Cronus always makes sure that both of you are satisfied when you have sex, though you know it's for his ego and not because he cares about you.

He takes your shampoo bottle with his other hand and squeezes some of it out onto your lifted knee. He swirls his fingers in it, coating them completely, then brings his hand down between your legs. He ghosts his fingers over your cock, then strokes your taint lightly until you buck your hips, demanding more. He glides one finger back to rest right at your hole, swirling his fingertip around it before abruptly plunging it in all the way. You let out a strangled "fuck" and you clench tightly around him in surprise before remembering to breathe and relax. He immediately adds a second finger and scissors them, stretching your inner walls. It's too soon and too fast, but he knows you like the burn. He thrusts his fingers up hard and crooks them, scraping against your prostate. Your hips stutter and you try to push yourself down onto his hand even harder, chasing the sensation.

He starts a brutal rhythm, twisting and pistoning his fingers in and out of you, jabbing against your sensitive gland in a dizzying blend of pain and pleasure. You're riding the waves of sensation, but it's still not enough and you whine in frustration. Cronus lets go of your leg and drops to his knees, engulfing your cock with his mouth in one smooth motion. You choke and moan embarrassingly loudly. The wet, inviting heat of his mouth paired with his unrelenting fingers knuckle-deep in your ass makes your knees buckle. It only takes a couple more thrusts before your stomach is tensing and you feel like you're about to lose it.

Cronus moves his head back, giving the head of your cock one last lick before letting his fingers slip out of your ass and standing up. You want to punch him for stopping when you're so close to the edge and you would have, if you were capable of moving your limbs right now. Before you can complain, he grabs your dick in his hand, pumping it roughly and rolling your balls in his other hand. You groan at the sudden onslaught and when he leans his head down and sucks hard at a bite mark on your shoulder, it goes straight to your cock and then you're coming all over his hands and stomach.

You lean against the wall, catching your breath. Cronus washes himself off briskly and leaves with a self-satisfied grin. Once you're alone, you turn the water up to scalding, enjoying the dull throb of the bruises all over your shoulders and the way the water exacerbates the pain. You close your eyes and wonder what it would be like to fuck Sollux in the shower.


	3. Sollux

You slam your locker shut, not bothering to take out any textbooks. To your left, Karkat is ranting about the artistic merit of some terrible movie that he watched last night. It's pretty hilarious whenever he gets angry about inconsequential shit, which is always. His brain probably registers all sensual stimuli as cause for frothing rage. You make your way to Comp Sci, throwing in derisive comments whenever Karkat pauses for breath.

You really don't know why you bother signing up for this course every year. The material is so laughably rudimentary that even Karkat, with his nonexistent coding skills, could grasp it. It does give you an ego boost though, to be surrounded by lessers who would probably shit solid gold bricks if you showed them a tenth of your capabilities. It's one of the things that you try to keep in mind when you go through a downswing.

You zone out to the hum of the ancient computers that your school refuses to upgrade. Karkat spends most of the period staring intently at his computer screen and muttering under his breath. The ambient noise is almost enough to lull you to a doze and you hover comfortably at the edge of consciousness for the next forty-five minutes.

Too soon, the bell rings, jarring you from your stupor. You shuffle off to Chemistry reluctantly.

You sit with Karkat for a few minutes since Mr. Allan isn't here yet, to nobody's surprise. Eridan's already in his seat, his nose buried in a book. It's probably some historical tome. He's so fucking proud of his "intellectual" pursuits, always shoving it in your face that he can recite obscure facts about the origin of machine guns or the Hungarian royal lineage or whatever. It's the sort of thing that makes your fingers itch to yank at his scarf and make him shut up for two seconds.

When Mr. Allan walks in, Karkat turns to you, saying solemnly, "Time to face Douchezilla."

"We, who are about to die, salute you," you utter grimly, giving him the mournful salute of your two middle fingers as you walk away.

You sit down and are instantly assaulted by the smell of Eridan's expensive cologne. He probably produces it as a natural function of one of his organs. Eridan Ampora: biologically designed to provoke maximum levels of irritation.

He peers at you over the top of his book and you cross your eyes at him. He huffs, putting the book down. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it, seeming to reconsider. Of course, being Eridan, he quickly dismisses whatever reservations he might have had and whispers, "Why are you ignorin' me?"

"What?" You never speak to each other at school, besides during this class. You don't even remember having had the opportunity to ignore him.

"You didn't answer my messages for two nights in a row. I'd say that fuckin' counts."

You look disbelievingly at his peeved expression. "Are you fucking serious? I was doing a coding project, okay. I'm saving up for a new game. What the hell though, Eridan, why do you even care? Put away the beaded friendship bracelets, man, just fucking incinerate them and feed the ashes to your shithead brother."

"Okay, I get it, we're not friends. You don't got to bring it up every single time. I'm talkin' about human fuckin' decency, Sol. It's fuckin' rude to ignore people."

"All right, god, I’ll answer your messages. Just stop bugging me about it.”

You think that’s the end of it, and readily go back to zoning out and mentally mapping out the programming for the project you still have to finish. The classroom feels like a sauna. All of the first floor rooms are overheated during the colder months. The heat makes you languid and drowsy, and you rest your chin in your hand as you gaze at the chalkboard.

"Hey, Sol." Eridan's tugging at your sleeve. You turn towards him slowly, your irritation dulled by the soporific effect of the heat.

"Come over today," he says quietly, peeping over to the front of the room to make sure that Mr. Allan hadn't heard. "We haven't even started the new lab report yet."

"I can't. I'm busy tonight."

Eridan's expression turns sour immediately. "With what? Let's face it, you're pretty much an anti-social recluse. You wouldn't even have friends if it weren't for Kar."

You frown at him, exasperated. "Jesus, did you miss the part where I told you five minutes ago that I have to work? Not everyone gets whatever they want handed to them on a silver platter by daddy dearest."

This makes him bristle, unsurprisingly. He's so easy to rile up that it almost gets wearisome, always knowing which buttons to push to get him to puff up like an angry cat.

"Fuck you and your high horse. You don't know the first thing about me," he hisses. He narrows his eyes at you, probably thinking that it makes him look intimidating. He's entirely ridiculous in such a theatrical, unavoidable way that the secondhand embarrassment nearly suffocates you. Sometimes, when you're manic and thrumming with explosive energy, it feels good to tear into him. To land a particularly nasty verbal or physical blow and to see him hurt brings a malicious satisfaction, a sweet relief. Mostly, however, his prickliness just gets tiring.

"Yeah," you say indifferently. "I don't."

Eridan doesn't seem to know what to do with that, his eyes going wide and surprised briefly. He regards you for a moment, then says evenly, "So I'll go over to your place."

"Are you fucking kidding me? That is not gonna happen, end of discussion."

"Why not?" he whines. "You're always goin' on about how fuckin' smart you are, so multitask!"

"Yeah, still not happening. I'm done talking about this." You pointedly face away from him as he continues to whisper urgently at you. Soon enough, his imploring fizzles out. You can feel him sulking at you, a sullen lump next to you for the rest of the class.

\-----

When the bell rings at the end of the school day, you feel some of the tension that had been building up in your body since the morning finally dissipate. The press of the bodies around you and the innumerable little background noises of the school—the scraping of chair legs against the floor, the irregular drumbeat of fidgeting fingers tapping out rhythms against a desk, the metallic clang of a locker slamming shut—have gathered into a concentrated pressure behind your eyes that makes your head ache.

At your locker, your friends greet you, but you're not really in the mood for socializing, so your response is curt. They're used to your occasional bouts of moodiness by now, and let you collect your things in peace. When you've finished and you turn around, preparing to leave, you find none other than Eridan Ampora blocking your way.

"Go away," you mutter tiredly, sidestepping him and continuing down the hall.

"Sol, I'm going with you." Eridan stubbornly tags along, twisting the end of his scarf between his fingers.

"Like hell you are." You fairly sprint down the stairs and he scrambles to keep up with you. When you reach the front door, you whirl around and watch him catch up.

"Are you so fucking retarded that you can't even process a simple two-word command? Go away. You're not fucking inviting yourself over, you presumptuous douche."

"I'm sorry that some of us actually have ambitions for when we graduate from this shithole that amount to more than vegetatin' in front of a screen all day and that those ambitions require not fuckin' failin' Chemistry!" He's clutching his scarf, his hands balled into fists. He's trying to goad you, but you don't even want to bother responding. It's probably the only time he talks to anyone, these arguments he has with you. You wonder if his eagerness to quarrel is the result of his natural belligerence or his loneliness. Probably some pathetic combination of the two.

You lean back against the door, looking at him silently. Every time there's an assignment, you two have the exact same conversation, but it's usually Eridan bugging you to go to his house. The weariness in your body weighs you down and you relent. If he wants to follow you home like the world's most irritating stray dog, then so be it. You push the door open and step outside.

He's immediately at your side again as you stride down the sidewalk. He makes several attempts at conversation, to which you are completely unresponsive, and he eventually lapses into silence.

When you finally reach your modest apartment, Eridan says incredulously, "You live here?"

You roll your eyes as you unlock the front door. Rich asshole.

No one's home yet when you enter your suite, so you go directly to your room. The sooner you get this done, the sooner he'll be out of your hair.

Eridan carefully avoids stepping on the video games littering the floor and sits down on your bed, glancing around your room. His eye catches on the pile of shurikens in the corner.

"Shit, can you actually use those?" He looks genuinely impressed. Such a fucking weapons fanatic.

"Yeah, I'll throw one at your face the next time you piss me off." You sit down on the floor next to where he's kicking his heels against your bed frame. "Well? Are we gonna work or not?"

He looks down at you, shocked. "What, you're doin' it with me?"

"Yes, wasn't that the whole fucking point of you forcing your way into my house? We're not here to gossip and paint each other's nails. Hurry the hell up." You tap his knee twice with your forefinger.

He slides off the bed, muttering, "Just sayin', usually you spend the whole time shittin' around on the computer and I gotta do the whole thing myself." He grabs his textbook and folders and tosses them to you before walking to your door. "You start, I'm gettin' a drink."

You've barely begun editing Eridan's clumsily written lab procedure when disaster strikes. A series of sounds: the front door slamming shut, the quiet thump of bodies colliding, then the unmistakeable noise of both Eridan and your older brother flipping their shit. Fuck.

You run into the kitchen to find Eridan gesturing wildly with an empty cup in his hand and your brother, Mituna, clutching his skateboard to his chest.

"What the hell is going on?" you demand.

"He fuckin' rammed into me on his fuckin' skateboard! I just got water on an outfit that probably costs more than your entire month's rent, Sol! Why the blisterin' fuck was he skateboardin' in the kitchen?" Eridan's practically frothing at the mouth, glaring daggers at you with his arms akimbo like a displeased child.

"Calm the fuck down, it's just water," you say curtly, brushing past Eridan to deal with Mituna. His loud, frenzied cursing has died down to whispered obscenities. You gently ease the skateboard from his arms and grab his hand to lead him to his room. Your touch calms him somewhat and he follows you with only slight reluctance.

Once you've sorted that out, you go back to the kitchen to deal with Shithead #2.

"Well? What are you gonna do about this?" He gestures stiffly to his wet shirt and scarf, the very picture of affronted dignity.

You sigh. "You can wear one of my shirts."

"I don't want to wear your clothes." He's actually pouting now.

"Whatever, don't change then, I don't give a shit." You turn around and walk back to your room. Eridan follows huffily and sits on the floor with his arms crossed until you throw a shirt at him. You cast your gaze aside while he changes. When you look back, your eyes widen in shock. Eridan's neck is covered with the marbled hues of numerous bruises. For a moment, your brain fills wildly with possibilities until you remember: Cronus. You wonder how many times Eridan's scarf has conveniently covered evidence of his perverted acts.

Eridan fidgets under your scrutiny, the beginnings of a blush rising to his face.

"So you fucked your brother last night, huh," you say drily.

"What's it to you?" he snaps.

"Nothing, whatever," you say dismissively, sitting down beside him and flipping open the Chemistry textbook in front of you. "Let's fucking do this before I die of old age."

You've never actually worked in tandem with Eridan before. He's about 100% pissier when you're correcting his mistakes during his writing process instead of afterwards. It's like he feels some absurd need to argue with you over every point before inevitably conceding that you're right. Which, duh, of course you're right. Each time that he opens his mouth to bitch again, you feel your patience wearing thinner. You really want to shut him the fuck up, but when you tell him that plainly, you might as well be sending him an engraved invitation to bitch even harder.

So, when he next opens his mouth, you poke one of the bruises on his neck, hard. He yelps, batting your hands away.

"What the fuck, Sol?" He looks somewhere between angry and bewildered.

"Stop complaining." You don't bother elaborating and you can sense the oncoming storm of words in the way his eyebrows scrunch together.

"Fuck you, why should I not complain about bein' fuckin' assaulted by—ow!" He breaks off when you jab another bruise. He narrows his eyes at you and swiftly slaps you on the thigh. Fuck, that actually hurt. He tries to cover his neck with his hands, but you manage to poke a small patch of purple skin right under his jaw. He slaps your hand away and lunges at you, toppling you over to land on your back.

He looks down at you smugly, jabbing you viciously in the stomach as he taunts you. "How do you like it now, you skinny piece of shit—wow, fuck, how are you even alive? Your stomach is fuckin' concave—hey!" You flip him over in one fluid motion and sit on his stomach. He looks winded for a moment, then immediately starts twisting his body and pushing at you with his hands in an effort to regain the upper hand. You grab his wrists and hold them both in one hand, resting them on his chest so that it almost looks like he's praying. You wait calmly for him to stop struggling, and he gradually does, looking up at you with a conflicted expression.

"What're you doin'?" he asks cautiously. You use your free hand to close his mouth, his lips clamped between your thumb and forefinger.

"Seriously, just stop talking." You press your thumb against his lips, feeling the slightly dry texture of them before digging the nail hard into the soft flesh of his lower lip. He tries to bite you and nearly succeeds in clamping his teeth around your finger before you jerk your hand back.

“Sol, not that this isn’t fun and all, but what exactly is this?” He looks eager and anxious, and there’s a tentativeness in his tone that doesn’t suit him.

A bead of bright red blood has welled up on his lower lip from where you split the dry skin. It wobbles when he talks, distracting you, so you lean down and dart your tongue out to lick it off. Eridan's mouth snaps shut with a click of teeth and he breathes out shakily through his nose. You raise your head a bit and look down at him, his pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed. The metallic tang of his blood blooms on your tongue and sends something urgent coursing through your own bloodstream.

You lower your mouth to his again and slowly swipe your tongue along the seam of his closed lips, from one end to the other, savouring the way his mouth quivers. You tug at his lower lip with your teeth, sucking on it lightly, making Eridan groan quietly. His mouth falls slightly open and you slide your tongue between his teeth to tease the roof of his mouth. He hums in approval and you feel his wrists strain against your hold. You release him. He buries his fingers in your hair and arches his body up against you. It's a slow, lazy kiss, the wet warmth of your tongue tangling with his.

You shift your position, sliding until you're straddling his hips. You grind your crotch against his and it sends a shock of pleasure through you. You break the kiss and Eridan whines, trying to bring your mouth back to his. You resist, instead lowering your lips to his neck. You hesitate for a moment, then start sucking at a particularly dark bruise. Eridan loses it, moaning and cursing, rutting his hips against yours desperately. His reaction sets your nerves on fire; the shameless, simple way that he wants you, in this moment. Suddenly, making out languidly isn't enough anymore. You attack his neck, biting and sucking fiercely, relishing how Eridan fairly sobs when you bite particularly hard. Fuck, Cronus was right, Eridan really does get off on pain, the masochist. The thought makes you chuckle against his neck.

"What are you fuckin' laughin' at?" Eridan raises his head, peering at you indignantly. In response, you tug his shirt—your shirt—down a bit to expose his collarbone and bite it viciously. Eridan's head thumps back down on the floor and his hips buck into you. You scramble to undo the fly of your pants and Eridan follows your lead, his hands shaking on his zipper. You imagine the hot, slick slide of your cocks rubbing together and it sends a burning wave of desire pulsing through you. You've pushed your pants down to your knees and have your hands at the waistband of your boxers—

Someone's knocking on your door. Fucking hell.

"Sollux?" Mituna calls. He taps a rapid staccato rhythm on the wood that signals his nervousness. He's probably still disoriented from his mishap with Eridan; you rarely ever have anyone over.

You grit your teeth in frustration. Eridan is a flushed, dazed mess underneath you and looking at him makes your cock throb with desire. You want to tear into him, hurt him and make him beg for it.

You sigh, pulling your pants up and standing unsteadily. You open the door just wide enough for you to slip through and hurriedly shut it once you're outside.

"Can you help me do my homework?" Mituna blurts out in a rush. You and he don't talk much, and he's never quite relaxed around you.

"Why don't you call Latula?"

"She said she's busy tonight," he mumbles, fidgeting with his shirtsleeves.

You run a hand through your hair, breathing out heavily through your nose. "Look, I have to work on something right now, but if Dad isn't home by the time I'm done, I'll help you, okay?"

Mituna nods and shuffles off to his room.

You lean back against the door for a while, not quite ready to face Eridan again. You close your eyes and clear your mind, breathing steadily. Once you've calmed down, you steel yourself and push the door open, stepping into your room. Eridan's sitting up now, facing your bed with his back towards you. He doesn't acknowledge your presence, only looking up at you when you sit down on the bed in front of him.

"So," he says slowly. "What now?" He's tried to school his features into something approaching neutral, but he's pretty terrible at hiding how he feels. It's plain that he's hoping and trying not to hope and fuck, this is exactly why you shouldn't have done this with Eridan, who's so goddamn desperate for anyone to love him.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," you say, opting for honesty. "But this was a pretty fucking bad idea. Like, if ideas were people, then this one should be taken out back and shot, then quietly dumped in an unmarked grave."

"Okay, fine," Eridan says impatiently. "You regret this with every fibre of your being, I get it. My point is, do you think you could maybe care about me, you know, romantically speakin'?" He's fidgeting with his pants, his hands fisting and releasing the material nervously.

"No," you respond flatly. If you're anything less than completely direct with him, he'll twist your words into acquiescence in his head.

"Damn it, Sol," Eridan whines. "You started it this time, obviously that means somethin'!"

"If you keep talking about this, I'm gonna throw you out and you can do the report yourself," you warn.

He glares up at you gloomily. You stare right back at him until he looks away, pouting. The action makes his full lower lip jut out and you hate how much you want to capture it between your teeth, suck and bite it swollen. Most of the time, it's easy to forget that Eridan is attractive, with his hilarious pompadour and huge, hipster frames. It makes it all the worse when you're caught off guard by the green of his eyes or the Cupid's bow of his mouth, familiar features rendered foreign by a certain angle or slant of light. It's strange to think that such appealing parts combined to form this douchebag.

Eridan is uncharacteristically subdued for the next hour or so, as you wrap up the report. He obediently alters whatever you tell him to with nary a word of complaint. Once you finish, you get up and go straight to your computer. Eridan doesn't say anything and you assume that he'll pack up and leave. You lose yourself in lines of code for ages, your eyes glued to the screen until you finish the project, at last. You stretch and swivel the chair around only to startle when you see Eridan sitting on your bed with his laptop resting on his legs. He looks up at the sound of your movement.

"You're still here?" you ask, shocked.

"I was typin' up the lab," he says defensively.

You glance at the clock. "For eight hours?"

He has the decency to look a little embarrassed, mumbling, "I made myself somethin' to eat."

"Of course you did. Go ahead, help yourself to whatever the fuck you want, why don't you take my clothes, my tech, hell, just take the whole apartment while you're at it."

"Oh fuck you, Sol. I wouldn't have had to if you'd been a proper host instead of rudely ignorin' your guest to make love to your computer all evenin'," Eridan says witheringly.

"I thought you'd leave after we did the lab, you moron, since that's the only reason you even came here. It's fucking two in the morning, E.D., and you live in practically a different district. Why are you here?"

He seems to shrink in on himself, avoiding your accusing glare. He stays quiet for long enough that you feel your irritation bubbling over into rage when he blurts out quickly, "Could I just stay here tonight?"

For a second your mind just blanks out. You've rejected him twice and now he wants to have a sleepover. You are so completely floored by his inability to take a hint that even your anger deflates. You kind of want to push him out of the window but you've officially run out of fucks to give; your reservoir of fucks is lamentably empty and all you can manage is a muttered, "Whatever", before you turn back to your computer to check on your forums.

By the time you feel exhaustion pressing in on the edge of your awareness, it's four a.m. Eridan is asleep on your bed, curled up and clutching one of your pillows. He'd left his pants and your shirt in a pile at the foot of the bed. He looks vulnerable like this, bare in a way that has little to do with his state of undress. You tug the duvet out from under him in small jerks and he murmurs and shifts in his sleep. You lie down with your back towards him and slip easily into unconsciousness.


	4. Sollux

Soft lips are warm above your own, a tongue gently easing your mouth open. You stroke your fingers through Feferi's mass of tangled curls and smile into the kiss. She keeps the pace slow and easy, exploring your mouth in a way that feels intimate without any urgency. You could kiss her forever—you want to, to map her mouth with your tongue, to wrap your arms around her and pull her close enough for her to sink into your marrow, some part of you irrevocably marked as hers.

You roll her over without breaking the kiss and she sighs your name as she wraps her legs around your waist. You slide your hand down her torso and slip it underneath her panties, making her squirm and giggle in anticipation. You wrap your fingers around the heated flesh of her cock and rub your thumb over the slit. Her breath stutters against your lips and you—wait. What the fuck? Her cock?

Your eyes fly open and you find yourself looking not at Feferi Peixes, but at Eridan Ampora. You've got your hand down his boxers and you're uncomfortably hard. For a second, your traitorous brain proposes that you throw caution to the wind and fuck him into the mattress. Thankfully, your higher cranial functions override your libido and you scramble off of him hastily.

"Could you try not assaulting me in my sleep?" you spit, your immense irritation fuelled by your sexual frustration.

"Oh, please, as if you weren't enjoyin' it," Eridan huffs.

"I didn't even know it was you because I wasn't fucking awake!"

"I don't see why you won't just give it a try. I could be a fuckin' good boyfriend." Eridan props himself up on his elbows, regarding you imploringly.

"God, don't even say that word." You shudder at the thought of having to deal with Eridan's incessant whining and entitlement on an even more regular basis than right now. Your neglected erection, however, throbs at the idea of having someone to fuck regularly. It is really too early in the morning for this bullshit. You glance at the clock. Oh, whoops. It's noon already.

"Wow, we just skipped our morning classes," you note. You're not too worried about it. Who really gives two shits about high school, anyway?

"It's Saturday, you mentally deficient meat sack," Eridan snorts. He flops back down on the bed, stretching and yawning. He puts one arm under his head and rests the other on his stomach. Then, he closes his eyes and his hand starts inching downward slowly...

"Ugh, no, what is wrong with you? Don't you fucking dare, you retarded piece of shit," you snarl.

Eridan opens his eyes and looks straight at you. He pushes his boxers down to his thighs and starts slowly pumping his cock. "So fuckin'—ah—make me stop," he taunts.

You should go over and yank him off the bed, maybe punch him a few times for good measure. You can't, however, seem to make yourself move. It's mesmerizing, the lithe, pale length of his body, almost completely bare but for his underwear. He's all easy submission like this, the relaxed lines of his body practically an invitation. He starts making little uncontrolled gasps and moans as his hand speeds up and you feel your whole body flush with heat.

You become abruptly aware that if you stay any longer, you're going to succumb, so you get the hell out of there. Once you've fled to the safety of the bathroom, you turn the shower on and finally, finally attend to your aching cock. You imagine that instead of thrusting into your hand, you're fucking the tight heat of Eridan's ass and god, the worst part is that it's not even a fantasy. You can quite clearly recall exactly what it felt like to be losing yourself inside of him and it's frankly embarrassing how often you've jacked off to it.

Once you've finished, you lean against the wall, catching your breath. You wonder if Eridan, fucking himself in your room, is thinking of you, too. He probably is, the pathetic bastard. You smirk. The only thing that's bearable about this shitastic situation is that he wants you so much more than you could ever want him.

\-----

The next few weeks pass without much incident, which is both a relief and a disappointment. When you have to work on Chem together, sometimes he invites you over and sometimes he follows you home again. You never stay the night at his house, but he's stubbornly refused to go home several times now, and although you threaten to, you never actually kick him out. You know that he's trying to worm his way into your habits, probably still hoping that you'll accept his offer of a romantic relationship. His behaviour doesn't change much, though; he's still as prickly and quick to anger as ever. This, more than anything, is what reassures you that you have nothing to worry about. Eridan is just too Eridan to ever be able to win you over. He’s not really good for much besides snarking and playing video games with. Although he is admittedly a damn good marksman whenever you play shooters. He hunts or something, a hobby that’s suitably weird for someone like him.

Despite the apparent normalcy, there are moments of abruptly heightened tension between the two of you when your hands brush or he catches your eye and your gazes linger for too long. It feels like a drawn out waiting game and you just want to fast-forward to when this whole situation blows over.

Before long, winter settles in and the buzz of pre-Christmas excitement pervades the school. Festive decorations pop up like an invasive species, topped off with an ostentatious tree in the front lobby. Eridan's crabbier than usual lately, seeming to constantly be on a low simmer. You find out why one night on Pesterchum, when Eridan launches into an entirely unsolicited rant about why religion is fake horse shit and how Christmas is evil and his daddy didn't love him enough, blah, blah. It was unsurprising that he was one of _those_ atheists. It figures that he'd be abnormally obsessive, whichever end of the religious spectrum he fell on.

You don't see much of Eridan during the last two weeks leading up to the break. Your friends organize a shitload of parties and gatherings, stupid holiday things like Secret Santa. It's nice to see them, to be part of the cozy intimacy of a familiar group of friends. Still, after a while, you begin to long for the quiet of your room and solitude. So, when the holidays officially start and everyone's caught up in family get-togethers, you are completely fucking ready to vegetate in front of a screen for two weeks.

A few days in, you're surfing the 'net when a chat window pops up:

 **eridan** : hey sol  
**sollux** : hey. what do you want?  
**eridan** : why do you always got to be so goddamn rude cant i just message you because i feel like it  
**sollux** : you always do anyway but it doesn't mean i have to like it, douchelord.  
**eridan** : as it so fuckin happens i do in fact have a reason for gracin you with my online presence today  
**eridan** : do you want to come over  
**sollux** : ...what, right now?  
**eridan** : yeah i mean you cant possibly be doin anything of importance youre not even religious are you  
**sollux** : you know that non-religious people celebrate christmas, right? like, that is a thing.  
**eridan** : yeah sol i fuckin know that cause im not a fuckin idiot but celebratin secularly is a slap in the face to me and to the jesus nuts  
**eridan** : if youre gonna waste your time devotin practically a fuckin month to a FAKE holiday created in the name of a FAKE messiah then do it properly or dont fuckin bother  
**eridan** : anyhow your family dont really seem like the type to sit around a roarin fire exchangin gifts lovingly and all that crap  
**sollux** : yeah, just the image is pretty nauseating.  
**eridan** : so now that weve established that youre free are you gonna come or what  
**sollux** : fuck no. why the hell would i want to walk to your place when it's ass degrees outside? oh yeah, i love frostbite, it makes me so fucking hard.  
**eridan** : come on man cant you wear earmuffs or something  
**eridan** : i got booze  
**sollux** : lol cause the prospect of getting shitfaced with you is so damn appealing.  
**eridan** : fuck you sol do you know how many of the losers at school would prostrate themselves before me at the mention of free alcohol  
**eridan** : i got cake too  
**eridan** : the chocolate kind from that bakery that you probably couldnt even afford to step inside of

You pause. Fuck, that shit is ambrosia. You haven't eaten all day and the thought of having a bite of that moist, rich (ha) cake makes you salivate.

 **eridan** : i know you want it sol  
**eridan** : cro and my dad arent home they went to visit family so you wouldnt even have to deal with him 

No one to bother you as you devour cake to your heart's content. You know you've basically given in. That cake is one of the main reasons you consent to going to Eridan's so often in the first place. His ulterior motive for this invitation is blatantly obvious, but you have a game plan. Walk in, unhinge your jaw, swallow the entire cake, walk out.

 **sollux** : fine, you got me, i'm that cake's little bitch. i'll be over in twenty minutes.


	5. Sollux

Eridan greets you at the door with a huge grin on his face and rather rosy cheeks. You don't think you've ever seen him smile like that. Occasionally, when you're bantering somewhat amiably instead of throwing caustic remarks at each other, some particularly convoluted metaphor will make one of you laugh, but his default expression seems to be a slight frown.

"Are you drunk already?" You quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Fuck off," he says, still grinning. It's actually really disconcerting to see him so cheerful. He steps aside to let you in and you make your way straight into the kitchen.

Eridan sits across from you, sipping scotch while you eat. The silence is only punctuated by the sound of his rings clinking against his glass and your quiet chewing. He's finished his drink by the time you've polished off three-quarters of the cake. He stands and walks over to the doorway, looking at you expectantly.

"Come on, I got a stash upstairs."

You pause. You really want to leave but you do feel kind of bad for the fucker. You're about the closest thing he has to a friend and what the hell, it's Christmas. You get up and follow him upstairs. You're almost certain you're going to regret this.

\-----

Half an hour and a few glasses of wine later, you're feeling generally more at ease with the world. There's a pleasant languor in your limbs as you sit leaning against Eridan's bed. He's sprawled on top of it and still giggling at some shitty joke you made that he probably wouldn't even have cracked a smile at without all the scotch diluting his blood.

The alcohol makes you feel loose and warm and you find yourself pondering things that you'd normally forcibly dismiss from your mind.

"So," you begin slowly. "How did it start? You know," you gesture vaguely with your hand, "with you and Cronus."

Eridan doesn't reply for a moment and you hear him take another gulp of wine. He sighs and the sheets rustle as he shifts. "I don't know, fuck. I was thirteen and tryin' to smuggle my sheets downstairs after havin' a wet dream. Then he sauntered in and started givin' me shit about it, so I head-butted him and," Eridan falters a bit, "somehow it ended with him givin' me a handjob."

"Jesus," you breathe. "Thirteen? You two are clearly well-adjusted and mentally sound." You had known Eridan at that age. He had been a petulant, malicious thing—and he still is, really. At thirteen, he would have just started high school. You think of Cronus, and then of the freshmen at school, how small and unsure of themselves they seem, and you feel disgust settle low and heavy in your gut.

"As if you have any right to talk. You're certifiably crazy," he retorts. "Besides, it's not so bad. It's convenient, you know, when you need to blow off some steam."

"Sure, by blowing Cronus," you say witheringly. You down the rest of the wine in your glass and fumble for the bottle to top it up again. You need to be much more drunk in order to handle this conversation.

He flicks the back of your head in retaliation, then tugs at your hair lightly. You swat his hand away without turning to look at him. You hear him draw in a breath as if about to speak, then breathe out in a quick puff.

"What happened with Fef? I mean, how'd you guys break up?" he asks cautiously. He must have moved closer to you; you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear.

You swirl the wine in your glass around, watching it undulate in crimson waves.

"Sol, come on, I spilled my guts to you so now it's your turn. It's only fair," he grouses. He starts poking your head again so you put your glass aside and lie down on the floor. You look up at the ceiling, the room dim but for the amber glow of two weak incandescent lamps, one on either side of Eridan's bed.

"There isn't even anything to tell. She moved, we tried the long-distance thing, it didn't work out. 'Not with a bang but a whimper' or whatever."

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?" Eridan's miffed face is frowning down at you. "Did you even persevere at all? I can't believe she chose your pathetic, useless ass over me."

"Screw you," you snap, familiar guilt and bitterness washing over you at the thought of Feferi. You really didn't deserve her. What did she ever see in you? Lovely, effervescent Feferi, who had found your moodiness inexplicably charming. Who hadn't put up with your shit and who had been surprisingly fierce in her anger, as sharp and as quickly dissipated as a lightning bolt.

"No, fuck off, Sol," Eridan snarls, reaching a hand down and jabbing you in the stomach. "You fuckin' stole her from me, you good-for-nothin' sack of piss. And you just tossed her away like trash?"

He jabs you one more time, emphatically, and you grab his fingers, gripping tightly enough that he winces. "She dumped me, asshole. You don't know shit, so stuff it."

You let go of him and he snatches his hand back, looking at you reproachfully. His head disappears from view and he heaves a slow sigh.

"Have you ever, you know, done it with other guys?" Eridan asks. The question hangs there, uncomfortably close to what you're sure is on both of your minds, all alone in his house getting drunk together.

You feel an itch under your skin, a kind of craving for tactility that alcohol tends to ignite in you.

"No," you say simply. Then you blurt out, "I made out with K.K. once."

Eridan's astonished face appears above you. "What the flippin' shit? You were going out with Karkat?"

You close your eyes, blocking out the sight of him. "No, Jesus, I don't know why the fuck I told you that. We were drunk, it was awkward, we never talked about it again."

"How do you know he didn't like it?" Eridan's voice has taken on the stubborn tone that he brings out whenever he wants to pursue a point after you've declared the topic closed.

"I don't know," you say. It comes out softer than you'd intended. "He's my best friend and I guess neither of us wanted to make it weird."

Eridan slides off the bed and sits on the floor, shoving your legs aside to make room for himself. You can't stop focusing on where his toes poke into your hip.

"What about you, E.D.?" you ask, just to distract yourself. You realise, though, that you're actually curious. "Anyone besides me and your own fucking brother?"

"Fuck you, Sol, you can take your judgment and ram it up your nostril into your defective brain." Eridan fiddles with his empty glass, finally muttering, "No, no one else."

You look at him, his wine-stained lips and dishevelled hair. His neck is bare and pale and you ache with how much you want to touch him. Lust is a hot, electric current through your body and you ball your hands into fists, digging your nails into your palm, hoping that the pain will dull your wanting.

He turns his gaze towards you and slowly, hesitantly reaches out to put his hand on your knee. He searches your face with an expression of quivering hopefulness. He seems encouraged by your lack of protest, so he eagerly crawls on top of you, settling his elbows on either side of your face.

He lowers his mouth to yours, his eyelids fluttering closed. Once his lips touch yours, he stills, as if waiting for some sign of approval. As seconds pass and he makes no move to actually fucking kiss you properly, your frustration builds to a boiling heat that feels very much like anger. You're finally giving in and the crusty shitbag can't even do this right.

You scramble to sit up, supporting yourself on shaky arms. Eridan makes a distressed noise, but before he can do anything else, you stand, haul him up by his shirtfront and dump him on the bed. You're on him in a heartbeat, gripping his shoulders and shoving your tongue in his mouth. He shudders and groans and you drink in the sound, as intoxicating as the wine that you can taste on his lips.

His hands slide down your back to your ass and he palms it greedily. You feel like you're on fire and the layers of clothes separating you seem suddenly unbearable. You lift your mouth from his to hurriedly discard your shirt and then nearly rip Eridan's shirt off his chest in your haste. You make similar work of your pants and once you've slid his boxers off, you press your body flush against his. It's too much, all at once, having him naked and pliant beneath you. Your hands wander feverishly over his skin, squeezing and stroking, and fuck, he's so vocal, swearing and moaning with abandon.

You shift your hips slightly and— _oh_. God, it's really been too long since you've had anyone. The friction of your cock rubbing against his is a frisson of pure, liquid pleasure and you groan shakily. You rut against him, sloppy and uncoordinated. Hot, intense waves of sensation flood your body and you feel drunk on lust—on his smooth flesh and his soft mouth. He reaches a hand down between you and wraps it around your cock, pumping hard and fast in time to your movements. The rough callouses of his palm contrasted with the slick slide is enough to bring you over the edge in only a few more strokes and you pant into Eridan's neck as you come down from the high.

He doesn't let you lie on him for very long though. He nips your ear and wiggles beneath you in impatience, whining, "Get up, Sol."

You shut him up with a kiss, biting him hard as you snake a hand down his torso. You tease him, cupping his balls and swirling your thumb over his slit until he's practically snarling at you to just move. So you do, stroking him as he thrusts into your hand and his breathing quickens. Soon enough, you feel the tremor in his muscles that tells you he's almost there. You lower your mouth to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, "Come on, E.D.", as you twist your wrist just so. Eridan's breath hitches and he lets out a strangled sort of moan as he spills all over his stomach. Once he's finished, you nibble his lower lip one last time and then roll over onto your back beside him.

You feel entirely sated and exhausted. There are probably a shitload of things that you could and should say to Eridan right now but before you can even contemplate untangling the jumble of thoughts in your mind, you've already started to nod off.

\-----

In the morning, you wake in a tangle of limbs. You blink groggily, peering down at Eridan's cheek smooshed against your chest. You feel uncomfortably sticky and try to pry Eridan off only to have him stubbornly cling harder and nuzzle into you. Ugh, he's drooling on you. You stick your hand under his chin and start tickling his neck and grin when he starts twitching. Soon, you have him fully awake, flailing and trying to slap your hands away and you cackle gleefully while you continue to torture him.

When you finally relent and give him a chance to catch his breath, he grimaces, asking, "What the fuck was that for?"

"I'm gross as shit and I want to shower but you wouldn't let go of me, clingy bastard." You rise, making your way to the door.

"Hey, wait, Sol—"

"You coming?" you interrupt, raising an eyebrow at him. He gapes for a second before eagerly bounding after you.

He keeps trying to talk, but you're hungover and sporting a morning erection, so once you get him in the shower, you push him to his knees. Might as well give him something worthwhile to occupy that pretty mouth of his. Fuck, he's just as good at this as you remember and you groan as soft, wet heat envelops your cock. You grab fistfuls of his tousled hair and guide his head towards you until you're buried in him to the hilt.

"Fuck, E.D.," you groan, as he raises his eyes to meet your hungry gaze. You don't look away as you hold him in place with your hands and slowly start to thrust, fucking his mouth. You brush your thumb softly along his cheekbone and he leans into your touch, humming in approval. The vibrations send a hot shiver up your spine and your hips stutter, trying to wedge yourself even deeper into him. You start thrusting in earnest, building a lazy rhythm that has you hitting the back of his throat each time. He doesn't even protest, just looks up at you with those docile eyes, pupils black and huge. Pleasure builds like a cresting wave, the wet suction of his mouth bringing you closer and closer until you're spilling into him. He swallows every drop, licking his lips as he stands.

You shove him against the wall and attack his mouth with yours, your teeth clicking painfully. You suck on his tongue, making him whine and god, you taste yourself in his mouth. You jerk him off roughly, his moans muffled in your kiss. When he comes, you feel him gasp your name right against your lips and a vicious satisfaction settles in your gut. You wash yourself off quickly as he's still recovering, then leave him alone before he can try to say anything again.

\-----

You're sitting on the couch downstairs when Eridan wanders in, clad in a purple bathrobe. His damp hair is unstyled and it makes him look like less of a pretentious dickwad than usual. It surprises you a little, the degree to which he is comfortable with you seeing him like this, relaxed and only half-finished.

You'd contemplated simply leaving, but you're starting to realise that this situation is rapidly becoming an actual fucking problem. You take in his swollen lips and his flushed skin and it makes you kind of angry that you already want to have him again.

He sits down beside you with a loud, drawn-out sigh.

"Three times," he says smugly, bumping your knee with his. "You can't say that doesn't mean anything."

"Hell yeah, I can," you retort. "Why the fuck do you even want to be in a relationship with me? I know you don't like me."

He scowls and crosses his arms. "That's not the point."

"Right, look, do we really need to make a big fucking deal out of this? Why can't we just fuck without everything devolving into soap opera-style histrionics?" He's moved over a bit, away from you, and he sits with his knees drawn up and his chin resting on them. He looks upset in the stubborn way that means he's determined to sulk for at least a good half hour. You roll your eyes at him and get up to rummage for food in the kitchen.

There's some cake sitting on the table, the frosting gone slightly brittle from being left out all night. You snatch it up with a grin and proceed to stuff your face. You hear the sound of the TV coming from the living room and gobble up the rest of your breakfast quickly before sneaking a peek at Eridan. He hasn't shifted from his spot on the couch, still hunched in on himself and staring at the carpet. You stride over to him and grab his ankles, swinging his legs over so that he's lying supine. He glares unhappily up at you, darting little kicks at your stomach.

"Piss off," he grumbles, and digs a heel into the meat of your thigh, making you yelp. The corner of his mouth twitches at that and he almost smirks before going back to pouting like a displeased child. You sit on his shins and he wriggles around a bit, trying to dislodge you, but he stops with a sharp inhalation when you slap his thigh. The warmth of his body seeps through your jeans and tempers your irritation at having to win him over if you want any chance of getting in his pants again. You stroke your fingers gently over the red mark you left on his leg and watch a flush creep up his neck. You have a feeling that it's going to be pretty fucking easy to persuade him.

You slide your hand over to his inner thigh, brushing aside the hem of his bathrobe. He clamps his legs together, trapping your hand. "I said piss off, fuckin' scumbag," he growls. You glare at each other for a moment and you really should just get the fuck out of here. Instead, you grit your teeth and proceed to think with your dick.

You wrench your hand free from between his legs and lean down towards him, bracing yourself on the sofa with one hand and pressing your lips against his. You'd expected him to turn his face away, but he stays still underneath you, his mouth pursed unyieldingly. You bring your other hand up and run your fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his head, and you try to coax his mouth into a softer shape. Your thumb rubs soothing circles on his temple as you nip and suck at his lower lip.

Slowly, you feel him relax by degrees. When you tug his lower lip with your teeth and then give it a last, lazy lick, he breathes a trembling sigh and surrenders. It's like gasoline set aflame, the way he comes alive. He arches up into you and winds his arms around your neck, bringing you closer and kissing you like he wants to eat you alive. You untie his bathrobe, running your hand down his chest, feeling his muscles tense and release under your palm. You pull yourself away from his mouth and lower your lips to the bud of his left nipple. You swirl your tongue around it, teasing it until he whimpers. Then, you shift your attention to his other nipple and torture it just as thoroughly. By the time you move back up to capture his lips in another kiss, his eyes are lidded and hazy with lust, his breath coming in shaky pants.

"Sol," he whispers into your mouth. You ignore him, curling your tongue around his to get him to shut up. He only repeats your name more insistently, pushing at you until you break away.

"What the shit is it now?" you ask impatiently. You tweak his nipple lightly in annoyance, making him whine and buck his hips.

"So, um, are we basically fuck buddies or somesuch?" His tone is ridiculously diffident for someone sprawled naked underneath a guy he’s fucked three times before.

"Sure, whatever," you say dismissively. A brief flash of uncertainty passes across his features before he seems to settle into something like determination. He pulls you back down, kissing you open-mouthed, wet and slow. The urgency of moments prior has dissipated, and you end up frotting lazily against him with your boxers shoved down to your knees. He comes with nothing more than a soft gasp and he lies there, boneless and satisfied, watching as you jerk yourself off until you finish all over his chest.

Afterwards, things seem less strained between you and Eridan. It's something akin to the clean lightness of the air right after a storm, as if properly defining your relationship has put you both on even footing. You find yourself settling easily into amiable bickering with him over lunch and the comfortable familiarity of it surprises you. You leave his house that afternoon musing that perhaps you two could become friends, eventually.


	6. Eridan

You don't see Sollux again for the rest of the break, though you chat online occasionally. Nothing really changes in the way your interactions go, which disappoints you more than you'd like to admit. "Fuck buddy" was at least a step up from whatever you'd been to each other before, right? Didn't that warrant some kind of special treatment? Instead, you're still the one to message him first every time and your conversations are still mostly him being gratingly sarcastic about whatever you throw at him. He does seem somewhat less dismissive than before, his tone tending towards wry mockery more often than his usual causticity.

You spend the remaining week moping around and shooting your BB gun at the ornaments hanging on the tree that your dad insisted on getting despite your complaints. You get drunk again, so badly that you end up vomiting on the stairs while you're trying to pathetically crawl your way up to your room. You just lie there for a while, beside the dripping puddle of your steaming puke, and feel sorry for yourself.

When school starts again, you're all immediately thrown into exam prep mode. This, of course, means everyone except Sollux. While you're practically tearing your hair out trying to cram a semester's worth of material into your brain, he sits in class acting just as bored and nonchalant as usual. Thus, you're pretty shocked when he agrees to your suggestion of a study session. You're considerably less shocked when, five minutes into quizzing you on Chem, Sollux initiates sloppy make-outs.

"What the fuck?" you splutter, trying to push him off. "Not that I'm not flattered that you find me so fuckin' irresistible and all, but I didn't make a shitload of cue cards for nothin'."

He regards you incredulously and doesn't even stop groping your ass to say, "What kind of retard invites their fuck buddy over to 'study' unless it's a euphemism for 'have sex'?"

You don't really know what to say to that and you have to admit that you are kind of horny. So, when he leans in again, you reciprocate enthusiastically. You don't bother keeping the volume down since only Cronus is home anyway. You actually moan a little more loudly than is strictly necessary because you're fucking sick of Cronus always sneering at you about how no one wants you. He can stick this in his pipe and smoke it until his lungs decay.

Later, when you're both lying on your bed and coming down from the high, you bug Sollux about studying for real. He tells you that you're a giant pain in the ass and pinches your stomach viciously with his bitten-jagged nails. He then spends the next hour being the worst study partner in the galaxy. For the first ten minutes, he mocks you mercilessly whenever you get something wrong. After that, he loses all interest and his obvious boredom and monotone voice push every single one of your buttons and then some. You end up screaming at him and whacking him with the textbook and the whole thing devolves into furious kissing.

The next three weeks are filled with similar shenanigans, sometimes at your house, but more often at Sollux's. He doesn't bat an eyelid these days, when you declare that you're staying the night. It's a relief to be away from Cronus, as you've found yourself fighting off his advances at least once a day whenever you're home. You haven't slept with him since you and Sollux started fucking. It's unforgivably sentimental of you, but it's not like your thing with Cronus was going anywhere. He's your fucking brother; it was only a matter of time before it crashed and burned.

Sollux's dad is rarely ever around. The few times that you've met him, he seemed absent, as if he were preoccupied with other things and you were but a momentary distraction. Between that and Mituna, who's out late most nights, Sollux usually has the apartment to himself.

It certainly works in your favour—he's fucked you against a wall (which left your shoulder blades aching), on the kitchen counter, and once, on your knees and bent over the coffee table.

Though the sex is definitely nothing to complain about, you find that sometimes you enjoy the moments of respite more. Quiet hours when Sollux sits slumped in his swivel chair, clacking away at his computer, and you lie on his bed, highlighting text and muttering to yourself while you memorise oxidation numbers. There are days when Sollux doesn't bother going to his desk after rolling off of you, spent and sated. Instead, he'll perform some complicated acrobatics to grab his laptop without getting off the bed and stay there beside you for the evening. On those days, you like to push at the boundaries of this thing you share, and you'll shift around until you're touching him, just a single, light point of contact—your elbow knocking against his or your foot resting on his calf. You try to play it off like it's a casual, unconscious movement, but he always turns to give you a mildly exasperated glance that tells you he knows exactly what you're doing. He doesn't move away though, just turns back to his screen and lets you have this. It starts a warm ache in your chest that's perilously close to tenderness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, that was almost 17k of rank debauchery. I never really planned for this id fic to see the light of day, so the abrupt ending is the result of my deciding to just post it in its half-finished state instead of leaving it to languish in the depths of my hard drive. If you've made it this far, congrats, you sick bastards.


End file.
